


What We Deserve

by Shippershape



Series: Stretch & Dr. Goodkin [20]
Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4731611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippershape/pseuds/Shippershape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cameron calls Kirsten in the middle of the night after a blowout with his parents. When they get a surprise visitor, Kirsten discovers she's very protective of a certain nerdy neuroscientist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Deserve

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Kirsten croaks into the phone, her voice, and mind, heavy with sleep. She glances at the clock on her nightstand, and groans when she sees that the first number there is a four.

“Forget it, it’s stupid. I shouldn’t have called.” Cameron’s voice comes through the line crystal clear, and she can hear the anxiety in his voice. She sighs.

“I’ll be there in ten.” Her legs are already swinging over the side of the bed, and she grabs a sweatshirt on her way out the door. Cameron insisted she get her driver’s license a few months ago, and shortly after she’d bought a little black sedan for her and Camille to share. Cameron still drives her around most of the time, but it’s nice to have a car of her own, especially in moments like this. The road is dark, but it’s relatively quiet, and she’s in front of his building before her ten minutes are up.

She braves the rickety old elevator, only because the idea of the stairwell at this time of night seems like a bad one. He answers after the first knock, like he’s been waiting by the door.

“I’m sorry.” He greets her. She raises an eyebrow, making her way inside. She dumps her stuff on the kitchen island, and makes herself right at home on his couch. He just hovers awkwardly, so she raises her eyebrow and waits. Whatever the reason for him calling her to come over was, it clearly has him completely worked up.

When he doesn’t offer any information, just continues standing there wringing his hands, Kirsten decides to step in.

“Cameron.”

“Yeah.” He looks up, like he’s forgotten she’s there.

“What’s up?” She asks, exhibiting a patience that seems to exist solely around him. He rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed.

“Um, I got into a fight.” He says. Alarmed, she jumps to her feet, hands instantly on his face as she examines him for injuries. He swats her away. “No, like an argument. With my mom.” Her hands drop in shock, and she lets out a snort.

“ _What?_ ”

“I was at my parents place for dinner, and I just… we got into it. And now I can’t sleep.” There’s a blush climbing from his cheeks down his neck, and she suspects he’s only now realizing how ridiculous that sounds.

“You called me in the middle of the night because you had a fight with your mother?” She asks, just to clarify. He cringes.

“Yes?”

Kirsten thinks about that for a moment, then sits back down and pats the couch beside her.

“Alright, tell me all about it.” She gives him her best therapist expression. He blinks.

“Wha-really?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “I mean I’m already awake, I’m here.”

He sits.

“It’s hard lying to them. We don’t really get along, and they were pissed when I turned down the job at MIT. The fact that I can’t actually tell them what I’m doing for a living doesn’t help.” It seems like once he’s started he can’t stop. “It’s not like I can say ‘Hey Mom, hey Dad, I’m working for a secret department of the NSA that uses technology I built to insert a living person’s consciousness into the thoughts of the recently deceased’.” He rubs tiredly at his face. It surprises Kirsten how upset he seems.

“What do they think you do?” She asks, suddenly curious.

“My official cover with them is that I work in a clinic specializing in brain injuries.” He says, dropping his head into his hands. “My mom thinks it’s a ‘waste of my talent’. She wanted me to get into research.”

Kirsten absorbs that.

“At least she thinks you have talent. It sounds like she thinks you’re too smart for your work.” She offers. He snorts.

“I don’t really know what she thinks anymore. She said I’m wasting my potential, that I’m not ambitious enough, that I’m going to end up with no legacy and no money. She also keeps trying to set me up with her friend’s daughter because according to her I’m too ‘skittish’ to get my own dates.” He stares at Kirsten. “What does that even mean?”

“Um.” She shrugs. “What about your dad?”

Cameron rolls his eyes so hard Kirsten suspects he’s given himself a headache.

“He just doesn’t say anything. He’s not exactly an involved parent.”

It occurs to Kirsten that this is not an area she knows how to navigate. She doesn’t understand normal familial relationships, and it sounds like Cameron’s are even more complicated than the average. She puts her hand on his shoulder, surprised when he lays his cheek against it. What sounds trivial to her seems to have affected him deeply, she can tell by the pain in his eyes. The idea that anyone would hurt him, especially someone who’s supposed to love and care for him, lights an angry fire in her stomach.

“I’m sorry.” She says, because she is. He forces a smile.

“Thanks, Stretch. And thanks for coming. I know it’s late, but-”

“It’s fine. You would do it for me.” They both know that’s true. “And as far as your parents go, they don’t know the truth about what you do. You’re important, Cameron, your work saves lives and gets dangerous criminals off the streets. I would say your potential has been put to good use.” She pokes him. He looks so sad, and that sends an ache through her chest. He’s always been joy to her. Yellow and sunny and alive. Now he just seems dimmed.

“I guess I shouldn’t complain considering I at least still have both parents.” He says, looking guilty. Kirsten blinks in surprise.

“That’s not really how it works, is it?” She asks. “You deserve better.” She wonders if that’s a rule other people follow, only the worst off get to be dissatisfied. It seems stupid to her. Cameron’s looking at her, really looking, and she feels uncomfortably vulnerable under his gaze. It almost seems like he’s looking for something, but she can’t imagine what.

“So do you.” He finally says. She just dips her head in acknowledgment. “I-uh, I’m glad I have you at least.” The words tumble out nervously, tipping her off to exactly how much he means that. She smiles.

“You do. And same here.”

They sit in silence for a moment, and it’s comfortable enough that she begins to doze off, leaning back against the couch. Sometime later, a rocking motion wakes her up, and she realizes Cameron is carrying her to the bedroom.

“Cmmrn?” She mumbles into his shoulder. She hears him chuckle.

“I’m putting you to bed, Stretch.” She’s tired, and he’s soft, so she nestles her face into the flannel of his shirt. He sets her down on the bed, and now she’s cold where his hands were, where his body was. Her eyes are closed, but the footsteps are leading away from her.

“No.” She mumbles. The footsteps stop. “I’m cold. Come back.” And then he’s there again, tucking the blankets in under her chin.

“You want another blanket, Sleepy?” He asks. She shakes her head, patting the bed next to her.

“Get in here.” She’s actually shivering now, not sure why she’s so cold, but really missing his body heat. He hesitates, but eventually she feels the short burst of cold air as he crawls into bed beside her. She instantly rolls over, pressing as close to him as she can. It still isn’t enough, so she tugs off her sweatshirt, removing the extra layer between them. He’s still warm, but he lets out a little squeak when her feet brush against his.

“You’re _freezing_.” He mutters, wrapping his arms around her and rubbing his hands across her bicep to warm her. She sighs happily.

“Not anymore. Go to sleep, Goodkin.”

She falls asleep somewhere between him complaining about how cold her feet are and the sun coming up.

-

A banging on the door wakes her up, and she blinks, squinting up at Cameron. During the night she seems to have essentially climbed on top of him, slinging one of her legs over him and resting her head on his chest. She can tell, by the way his chest is rising slowly, that he’s still asleep. Figuring it’s probably Linus at the door, Kirsten grabs the flannel shirt Cameron discarded while she was sleeping, and throws it on over her tank top and sleep shorts.

She pads to the door, stifling a yawn, and pulls it open. The middle aged woman standing in the hallway, staring at her, is most decidedly not Linus.

“Um.” Kirsten says. She looks back at the clock on the microwave, it’s about half past eight. “Hello?”

The other woman, a polished brunette in a navy pantsuit, blinks, then sweeps her eyes over Kirsten in what can only be described as an appraisal. There’s something in her face, the green eyes maybe, that make it click for Kirsten.

“You’re Cameron’s mother.” She guesses. The brunette raises her eyebrows.

“I’m Lynne Goodkin.” She purses her lips. “You can call me Mrs. Goodkin.” Kirsten gets the impression Lynne means that to be exactly as condescending as it comes off. She steps aside to let her in.

“Cameron’s still asleep. He was up pretty late.” Realizing how that sounds when Lynne looks scandalized, Kirsten corrects herself. “He said you argued, he was upset.” She crosses her arms over her chest, meeting the older woman glare for glare. The more she stands here, the more she understands what Cameron meant about them not getting along. Lynne seems harshly judgmental, to say the least.

“Oh?” Lynne asks, setting her purse down on the counter. Kirsten doesn’t take that as a good sign. “And who exactly are you?” Her voice suggests that it’s less of a question, and more of a challenge. Kirsten isn’t one to back down from a challenge.

“I’m-”

“Mom!” Cameron’s voice startles them both out of their bizarre staring contest. He stumbles out wearing his glasses, hair absolutely chaotic, and Kirsten’s heart skips a beat. She likes this look on him, probably more than she should. “What are you doing here?”

Lynne swivels towards him, face stretching into a smile.

“Cam, sweetheart! I came to talk to you.” She holds out her arms, and Kirsten expects him to roll his eyes and walk away, but instead he steps into the hug, looking uncomfortable.

“Talk about what?” He asks, quickly pulling away. Kirsten finds herself drifting subconsciously towards him, until they’re standing side by side, shoulders touching. She recognizes the tension in her stomach as protectiveness. Lynne glances between the two of them, face souring.

“Last night. I know you’re upset, but I came to try and convince you to give Amy a chance. She’s a nice girl. Of course, I didn’t know you were…unavailable.” She sniffs at the last word, like Kirsten being there doesn’t change her intentions at all. Cameron stiffens.

“Mom, I told you. I don’t need you to set me up. I’m sure Amy’s great but-”

“But you’re in a relationship?” His mother frowns at the two of them. Cameron opens his mouth in confusion, then realizes what she’s saying.

“What? Oh. No! Kirsten’s a colleague.” He gestures toward her, flailing a little. She can’t entirely suppress the smile. Lynne looks horrified.

“Oh Cameron, _no_. How many times has your father told you not to…to _dip your pen in company ink_?” She sputters. He flushes scarlet, choking.

“ _Just_ colleague, ma, we’re not, she’s not-”

“There’s no dipping.” Kirsten offers. Lynne glares at her, at both of them. She hardly looks convinced.

“Do your colleagues often stay the night at your apartment?” She scoffs. “I don’t see that Linus fellow you’re always talking about anywhere.”

Kirsten is beginning to feel uncomfortable, but Cameron looks so trapped that she can’t bring herself to leave.

“Look, Mom, I don’t want to date Amy. It doesn’t have anything to do with Kirsten.” Cameron says pointedly. “Is that the only reason you came?” It’s a dismissal, but Mrs. Goodkin ignores it.

“Do you have any tea, sweetheart? I could really use a cup.” She drifts into the kitchen, Kirsten staring after her in wonder. She’s beginning to suspect Cameron’s family is crazy. He shoots her an apologetic glance, then follows his mother into the kitchen.

He puts the kettle on, grabbing a box out of the cupboard. Kirsten hovers in the corner, not wanting to make the friction in the room worse.

“I spoke to Krishna Rajagopal the other day.” Lynne, who is now sitting at the kitchen island tells him. Cameron groans.

“Mom, I have a job.” He sets the mug in his hand down, a little forcefully. Kirsten frowns.

“Who is Krishna Rajagopal?” She asks. Lynne ignores her.

“She’s the Chair of Faculty at MIT.” Cameron says. She gets the sense this is a conversation he’s had with his mother many times before.

“She said a research position will open up this fall, they’d love to have you.” Lynne says, smiling sweetly. “It’s an amazing opportunity, darling. Once in a lifetime.”

Kirsten gets a funny feeling in her stomach.

“Is that true?” She doesn’t mean to ask out loud. Cameron stops in the middle of pouring the tea, and looks at her thoughtfully.

“Yeah, it’s a good job.” Her heart stops. “But I already have one, so.” He shrugs. Behind him, his mother flares her nostrils.

“Be sensible, Cameron. A medical clinic? What kind of career is that? You could be making a real difference, you could be doing something meaningful-”

“What he does _is_ meaningful.” Silence falls over the kitchen, and Kirsten realizes it was actually her who said it. Both Cameron and his mother are staring at her.

“I don’t think I was asking-”

“No.” Kirsten cuts her off again. “You weren’t asking me, you weren’t asking anyone. You were _telling_ Cameron that what he does isn’t important. That’s terrible.” Her voice shakes, and she doesn’t understand right away that it’s with anger. “He is vitally important to what we do, and I know you don’t believe this, but what we do is incredibly meaningful. Cameron is smart, and kind, and if you think he would settle for doing anything short of life-changing then you don’t know your son very well at all.” She crosses her arms again. Cameron’s jaw is on the floor somewhere, and Lynne has slowly reddened with anger, now resembling something in the tomato family.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are speaking to me like that?” She hisses. Cameron just stands there, eyes darting back and forth between the women.

“I think I’m someone who’s gotten to know your son pretty well, and you are seriously underestimating him.” She hesitates. “He saved my life. He almost died, actually, doing that. He’s saved a lot of lives at the…clinic. He might have told you that himself if you didn’t speak to him like a child, and assume he doesn’t know how to make his own decisions.”

“Kirsten-” Cameron says softly, and she stops, immediately afraid she’s upset him, crossed a line. But Lynne speaks before he can finish.

“Cameron, are you going to let her talk to me like that?” She turns on her son. He looks caught.

“Mom-”

“Don’t do that.” Kirsten says angrily. Anger is one of the first emotions she became familiar with after stitching into Cameron. But she still has a hard time controlling it. “Don’t put him on the spot like that.” She turns to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go.” She heads for the bedroom, bending over to grab her sweatshirt off the floor. She doesn’t want to inflame the situation any more than she already has. A hand on her shoulder startles her, and she jumps. She turns around to see Cameron standing behind her.

“You don’t have to go.” He looks upset. That’s enough to drop a heavy guilt in her stomach. “I’m sorry about my mom, she can be kind of…well you saw.” She forces a smile.

“You don’t have to apologize for her. But I should probably go, I think I’m just making it worse.” Her fingers curl around the sweater in her hand, but she makes no move to remove the flannel she’s still wearing. Without thinking, she kisses him gently on the cheek, and walks back out to the foyer. Lynne hasn’t moved, but she glares at Kirsten as she walks by. Kirsten can hear her mumbling.

“Don’t know what kind of a mother raises a child with _those_ manners…”

Against her better judgment, Kirsten stops.

“I didn’t have a mother.” She says, turning to Lynne. “She died when I was eight.”

“Hmm.” Lynne looks at her, no sign of remorse. “It shows.”

That hurts, in a way that’s new to Kirsten. Words have never been much of a weapon against her, but she’s vulnerable to them now. She’s too shocked to do much other than to grab her car keys off the counter, and stumble towards the door.

“Wait.” Cameron’s voice rings out, and she doesn’t really want to, because the pressure behind her eyes is familiar enough that she knows what comes next. And she doesn’t want to cry in front of Cameron’s mother. But she stops, because she thinks he might need her. She doesn’t turn around.

“Cameron, let the girl go.” Kirsten can hear Lynne say. She closes her eyes.

“Get out.”

Kirsten’s eyes fly open, and she spins around to see Cameron handing his mother her purse.

“Wh-what?” The older woman stammers. There’s an edge to his face that she’s never seen before. Hard edges and harder eyes. It’s a stark contrast to the floppy haired, sleepy eyed Cameron that emerged only ten minutes ago. She finds she likes him this way too.

“I said get out. No one talks to Kirsten like that, not here.” He’s still holding out the purse to her, voice angry for the first time. Lynne opens her mouth in surprise, slowly taking the bag from his hands.

“Cameron-”

“I’m not going to ask again. You want to come here and insult me, insult my career, fine. I’m used to it. But you won’t talk to her like that. You need to go.” Lynne gets to her feet, looking shaken.

“But-”

Cameron walks to the door, gently nudging Kirsten out of the way, and swings it open. He stands there silently, holding it open and staring at his mother. Slowly, she walks toward them and out the door. She glances back at her son, maybe hoping he’ll change his mind. But his face is stony, and she disappears down the hallway. Kirsten hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until it comes out in a long exhale. He looks at her.

“I’m sorry.” She says. Her lip wobbles, and she hates herself for it. It turns out controlling your emotions is hard. But this isn’t about her. His face softens.

“C’mere.” He holds his arms open, and she practically launches herself into them. It feels safe there, in his arms, the sound of his heartbeat calming her more than words could. “I’m so sorry. She had no right to say that. Any of it.” He’s talking into her hair, but she understands.

“It’s not your fault.” She’s never understood why people apologize for others. She appreciates it anyways. He sighs.

“You were just sticking up for me. Which you didn’t have to do, by the way.” He tells her. Still holding onto him, she shrugs.

“You deserve better.” She says again. His arms tighten around her.

“I don’t deserve you.” He mutters. Surprised, she pulls away.

“We look out for each other.” She says, cocking her head. “That’s why I’m here, that’s why you would have come if it was me calling.” She pauses. “I’m not sorry I defended you, but I’m sorry if it made things worse with your mother.” He winces.

“My mother… I don’t think you could really make things worse. If anything maybe this was what I needed to finally stand up to her.”

She smiles.

“Yeah, I kind of like scary Cameron. I think we could use him in the field every once in a while.” She jokes. He grins, and it’s a relief to see that again.

“I think you’re scary enough in the field for the both of us.” He mutters. She pokes him. Letting him go, she turns back toward the kitchen, and pulls a tin of coffee out of the cupboard. She knows where everything is, and soon the pot is burbling away. When she turns back around, she realizes he’s watching her.

“What?” She touches her face self-consciously. He blinks.

“Uh, nothing. You want an omelette?”

She nods, and he busies himself in the fridge. It’s her turn to watch him, head buried behind the fridge door.

“Hey, Cameron?” She prompts.

“Yeah?” His voice is muffled into the crisper.

“Do you still love me?”

There’s a bang as he hits his head on a shelf, and he emerges, rubbing his scalp. His eyes are wide, and a little confused.

“What?!”

“When I stitched into you, I could feel it. It was in all of your memories of me. I felt like I was intruding so I didn’t say anything. I thought you might bring it up…but you never did. So I was just wondering if you, I don’t know…” She trails off, biting her lip. “If you still feel the same way?” She waits. The silence is uncomfortable, even though she can’t tell how long it goes. The way he’s looking at her makes her want to take it back, like she’s made a mistake, like maybe she’s ruined everything they built this morning.

“I don’t-you knew?” He asks. Shock is too weak a word for the expression on his face.

“I-yes.” She matches his gaze, unwavering. Maybe she’s changed too much. Maybe he has.

“Um.” He’s frozen, a carton of milk in one hand, tipping dangerously. She swipes it out of his hand before it has a chance to spill.

“I’m sorry.” She’s apologized more today than in the past six months combined. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it.” She sets the milk down, then turns around to check on the coffee.

“I still do.” His voice comes from behind her. She almost drops the mug she’s just picked up. “Love you.”

She turns back to him.

“You do.”

It’s a question. A confirmation. He nods. Her heart flutters in her chest, and that sunny feeling is back, that feeling that is so definitively Cameron to her. Joy.

The silence is back, this time he’s waiting for her. His eyes are searching her face, she knows what he’s looking for this time.

“And if I said I felt the same way?” She asks, a little breathless. He steps forward, tugging the mug from her hand and placing it on the counter.

“I would say that’s good, Stretch.” He’s so close to her than she can feel his warmth, that heat he always seems to radiate. He leans in, and their noses are touching. “Are you saying you feel the same way?” He asks. She shivers.

“I’m saying… I do…love you.” She finds it difficult to form a coherent sentence when he looks at her like that. The way his eyes darken at her words seems to say _Right Answer_.

There’s barely any space between him, but he closes it. His fingers brush under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his, and he presses his lips against hers. It’s soft, at first, but it makes her heart skip anyways.

“Cameron.” She mumbles his name into his mouth, and it seems to flip a switch in him. He deepens the kiss, and it’s suddenly urgent, needy. His need is contagious, like a spark in a forest fire, lighting her up, igniting her. His hand finds the strip of skin where her tank top has ridden up, and he grips her hip, hard. She gasps, fingers fisting in his shirt, tongue sweeping across his lip. He wraps an arm around her waist, and suddenly she finds herself sitting on the countertop, unable to resist wrapping her long legs around him, locking him in place. He’s all she can see, and feel, that heat that encompasses her completely. She grinds against him, and there’s not much separating them, but it’s still too much. He groans, thumb finding the waistband of her shorts and tugging. Her heart is pounding with anticipation, she’s never wanted someone like this, a need that borders on pain.

His doorbell rings out, and Kirsten digs her fingers like claws into his back.

“No.” She says, panting. Her eyes sear into his. “Absolutely not.”

He grins.

“Go away Mom!” He shouts, then presses his lips to her neck. She shivers when she feels his teeth scraping lightly against her skin.

“What? It’s Fisher. Open the door.”

Cameron breaks away with a whine.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He grumbles. Kirsten fights the urge to scream in frustration. Her fingernails are still digging lightly into his back. With a sigh, she lets him go. She hops down from the counter, swiping at her mouth, and marches straight for the door. Cameron follows her, sulking. She swings the door open, greeting Fisher with the angriest glare she can muster. He stares at her in surprise, shrinking away from her anger.

“Wha-Kirsten?”

“What do you want?” She asks. He blinks.

“Maggie needs Cameron at the lab. And you. I guess that’s one less stop I have to make this morning.”

Kirsten seethes.

“Have you ever heard of a phone call?” She wonders. He shrugs.

“I called Cameron like four times. He didn’t pick up.” Fisher glances behind Kirsten, and she turns around to see Cameron checking his phone.

“Oh.” He mutters, fixing his glasses. “Shit.”

Fisher snorts.

“Anyways, there’s a case. Maggie needs you right away.” He waits, as if he expects Kirsten to waltz right out the hall and into the lab wearing her pajamas. She rolls her eyes. Cameron has come up behind her, and his hand is tracing circles on her back where Fisher can’t see. She bites her lip.

“We’re going to be late.” She tells Fisher, then slams the door in his face.

They don’t make it to the lab until almost noon, and Cameron winces in pain when Linus claps him on the back.

“Where have you been?” Camille hisses, eyeing him suspiciously as he dodges Linus’s incoming hand again. “And what’s wrong with your back?”

He blushes bright red.

“Nothing. I’m fine. I was just busy.” He shakes his head, hair bouncing. Kirsten coughs to hide the laugh, and Camille glances thoughtfully between the two of them.

“Well, Maggie wants us in the briefing room, now.” She gestures toward it. “After you.” When Cameron steps in front of her, she grabs the back of his shirt and yanks it up, revealing a set of long scratches down the length of his back. She stands there, stunned, before letting his shirt drop. A smile creeps onto her face, growing until she resembles the Cheshire cat. Cameron looks helplessly between her and Kirsten. Taking pity on him, Kirsten grabs his hand.

“Come on, let’s go.” She leads him down the hall, ignoring the catcalls that have started up behind them. When they’re out of earshot of Linus and Camille, she turns to him. “Sorry about those. I guess I got a little bit carried away.” Very lightly, she traces her fingers over where she knows the lines sit under his shirt. He shakes his head.

“Was I complaining? Besides, we should just be glad they didn’t see these.” He says, tugging on the collar of her shirt to reveal a mixture of hickeys and actual teethmarks. She smirks.

“You know what?” She asks, face softening. He cocks his head.

“What?”

“I’m really glad I answered the phone this morning.” She tells him. His face breaks into a smile that causes something to swoop in her stomach.

“Me too. I love you.” He says, leaning down to kiss her softly. She smiles into it.

“I love you, too.” Maybe, she thinks, maybe they’ve both finally gotten what they deserve.


End file.
